


Welcome to the Hellmouth, Asshole

by BeverlyTheVampireSlayer



Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire Slayer, Digital Art, Multi, beverly the vampire slayer
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2019-03-16 22:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 17
Words: 9,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13645815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeverlyTheVampireSlayer/pseuds/BeverlyTheVampireSlayer
Summary: Beverly Marsh had hoped Derry would bring her escape from all the problems of being the Slayer. Instead, it provides a home to one of the darkest evils she's ever faced.





	1. Chapter 1

“The new girl’s like, super hot.”

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie said, barely glancing up from his book. Richie crossed his arms. In his wrinkled _Avengers_ t-shirt and sagging jeans, Richie Tozier was everything Eddie Kaspbrak usually hated, and yet they’d somehow managed to be friends since kindergarten.

“You sh-shuh-shouldn’t talk about g-gh-girls like th-that,” a new voice said. Stuttering Bill slammed his bike into the fence behind Eddie’s back and snapped the lock into place. “They’re people, t-too.”

Richie snorted. “Beep beep, Billy,” he said, and then when no one laughed, “what? We can’t turn it around for once? Why’s it always me, huh? That’s favouritism, I say! Favouritism!”

“Beep beep,” Eddie said again, still not looking up. “Did you do the trig, Bill?”

Bill Denbrough licked his lips nervously. “I didn’t get a ch-chance to.” He looked down. “It’s my brother’s b-b-b- _shit!!”_ His flushed a violent red, embarrassed.

“Birthday?” Richie suggested innocently. Eddie glared at him.

“Yeah.” He frowned. “I d-didn’t mean to interrupt. Wuh-what were you t-t-talking about?”

“The new girl,” Eddie said at the same time as Richie said, “The hottie.”

Bill looked like he was about to say something, but the bell rang before he could. Shouldering his backpack, he offered Eddie and Richie an apologetic smile. “I h-have to g-g-g-guh…See you l-later.” 

Richie slung his bag carelessly over his shoulder. “Algebra awaits,” he said with an air of mock cheerfulness and a silly salute that had Eddie gritting his teeth. “I’ll see you later, m’lady.”

He was gone before Eddie could bother to correct him. Sighing, the boy gathered up his own things and started the arduous trudge to Ms Hatton’s English class.

  



	2. Chapter 2

Beverly Marsh was not impressed with Derry High School. Well, it wasn’t like she’d been expecting anything from the only public high school in a two block town like Derry, but this was certainly worse than she could have imagined. The floors were so scratched that their original colour had disappeared, and there was gum caked between the tiles at regular intervals. Beverly was forced to hop gracelessly for several steps when she almost stepped on a larger, fresher wad, grumbling disgustedly. Nevertheless, she was almost at the office when someone slammed into her from behind. As Beverly fell, a warm hand grabbed her by the forearm, gripping tight enough to stop her descent.

“Suh-sorry.” The voice belonged to a tall, lanky boy. He smiled sheepishly at Beverly as he stooped down to pick up her fallen papers. “I d-d-dih-didin’t  s-see you.”

Beverly wrenched her arm out of his grasp. “Well, look next time,” she snapped. The boy licked his lips nervously. His mouth worked for a moment before he began his next sentence.

“You’re n-new,” he pointed out. “I-I’m B-B-Buh…” His forehead creased. Beverly almost felt sorry for him. “Bill Denbrough.”

“Beverly Marsh.” Beverly stuck out her hand. Bill didn’t shake. Instead, he held something out to her. Her stake. _Shit._

“Th-this i-i-is yours,” he said. Swallowing her fear and embarrassment, Beverly took it.

“Thanks,” she said.

“I d-don’t know what you’d want a p-p-poh-pointy stick for,” Bill Denbrough said, smiling. “But if you w-want someone to stab, I c-c-can point you in the d-direction of Henry Buh-Bowers.”

Beverly forced a laugh. “It’s not for stabbing,” she said, “it’s self defence. Everyone had one at my old school.”

“Must have been pretty r-rough.”

“It was.” That wasn’t a lie. Beverly could totally rock this honesty thing. “I’m sorry, do you know where the principal’s office is?” She knew already, but her father had once said that asking for favours always endeared one to others. It was good advice apparently, because Bill Denbrough’s freckled face lit up in a soft grin.

“Th-that way,” he said, pointing. He had an old, ragged friendship bracelet tied around one wrist, threadbare and losing its colour. “Do you w-w-want me to walk you, B-Beverly?”

Beverly smiled shyly at Bill. “I’ll be okay,” she said. “Thank you, Bill Denbrough.”

“See you a-around, B-Beverly.” With a wave, Bill left her in the hallway. Sighing, Beverly finished the walk to the office.


	3. Chapter 3

Stanley Uris enjoyed the simpler things in life. He liked Shabbat with his family, and the way the water pelted against his skin like hot little bullets when he showered, the crisp feel of the air at four in the morning when he went bird watching. But there were some things that Stanley Uris did not love. Gossip was one of those things.

He’d listened patiently all through lunch as Richie cracked jokes and speculated about the new girl. He’d nodded along as Bill told Richie off, saying that her name was “Buh-Beverly, thank you very m-much,” and that she should be respected like anyone else at Derry High School. Hell, Stan even tolerated Eddie’s interjection about all the new diseases Beverly Marsh might be carrying from whatever city she’d lived in before—Stan actually hadn’t been listening for that—before he gathered his tray and walked off without a word. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to sit with his friends, and if it had been better day he might have, but Stan had known from the second he woke up this morning that today was going to be a _Bad Day._ So he took a deep breath, cut his losses, and left.

Stan ended up in an empty classroom, staring numbly at his math homework while his pencil scratched aimless circles in the desk. He thought about pulling out his bird book, and then thought better of it as he remembered that Henry Bowers would probably like nothing better than to flush it down the toilet along with Richie’s glasses and Eddie’s inhaler. He kept drawing aimless circles until the creaking of the door made him jump.

“Cool it,” said a girl’s voice. “I’m not here to bother you or anything.”

Stan glanced up. A redheaded girl was standing in the newly opened door, arms crossed over her chest. Her jeans were ripped at the knee, probably unintentionally if the rest of her was anything to go by. The flesh poking out from the hole was freshly scraped, and Stan saw a Band-Aid covering the pink skin of her elbow. “What’re you doing?” she asked, stepping closer.

“Nothing. Math homework.” Stan pulled the workbook closer to himself defensively, glaring. “What are _you_ doing?”

The girl laughed. “I’m exploring,” she said, as if her answer made any sense. “I’m new. Beverly Marsh.”

“Stanley Uris.” Stan pursed his lips. “Can you leave me alone now? I’m really trying to work.” He waited for her to be offended. Instead, Beverly’s freckled face split into a wide grin.

“Sure,” she said. “No hard feelings, Stangelina.”

“That’s not…” he started, but she had already disappeared. “…my name.”


	4. Chapter 4

Everyone assembled at Richie’s after school. Mrs Tozier made fresh lemonade and brought it out to the porch so they could breathe the fresh air while they drank it. The lines around her eyes had gotten deeper since the last time Bill saw her, and there was more grey in her hair than there had been, but her lemonade tasted the same, tangy and sweet and slightly off. “Can I get you boys anything else?” she asked, smoothing down the front of her apron.

“Nah,” Richie said. Eddie shook his head. Stan shrugged, wiping a bit of condensation from his glass before it could smear on the wooden slats of the table. Bill smiled up at her, choosing his words carefully.

“We’re fine,” he said. No stutter. Bill drew in a measured breath. “Thank you, M-Mrs Tozier.” And there it was. He let the breath out in a disappointed huff. She smiled fondly at him before going back into the house. Bill pretended not to notice. No one else was smiling. When he refocused his attention on the group, Eddie was solemnly relating today’s encounters to the listening ears of Richie and Stan.

“She was like—I mean, I mean she was like five feet tall!” he was saying. His hands flailed wildly as he spoke. “Like, is anyone actually that small?”

“You are,” Stan said. Richie snorted into his lemonade. Eddie glared at both of them.

“Haha,” he deadpanned. “Anyway, I was like, I was telling her she couldn’t go in there, right? Cause it’s like, it’s the boys’ locker room, and she’s like ‘I can go wherever I want.’ “ He paused, took a deep breath, and finished with, “And then she just went in.”

Richie faked a yawn. “That was the most boring thing I’ve ever heard,” he said, laughing. “Well,” there was a vicious glint in his eye, “besides Eddie’s mom.” He put up his hand for a high five. Stan smacked it down.

“My mom is _not_ a punch-line,” Eddie grumbled, adjusting his fanny pack. Bill cleared his throat uncomfortably.

“G-guh-guys,” he said softly, “I was th-thinking about inviting Beverly to the B-Bar-Barrens tomorrow.”

“What?” Richie’s jaw dropped. “But we’ve never brought a _girl_ to the Barrens before! Even when Eddie was crushing on whoever-the-fuck in 9th grade! It’s like, our thing! A guy thing!”

“Beh-Beverly’s different,” Bill insisted. “I can f-feel it.”

There were reluctant grumbles of agreement from around the room. Stan poured everyone more lemonade. 


	5. Chapter 5

The only saving grace of Ms Hatton’s second period English class was that Eddie was in it. Richie occupied himself with bouncing little balls of paper off of his friend’s back, innocently folding his hands over the shredded bits on his desk every time Eddie turned around to glare. Twenty minutes in, Eddie mouthed a quick ‘ _beep beep’_ that Richie pretended not to notice. Thirty-five minutes in, he stood up from his chair so quickly that it fell back with a bang.

“Is something the matter?” Ms Hatton asked, pausing her boring lecture to assess the situation. Richie tried to look as innocent as possible as Eddie politely asked to be excused; after he’d been gone for five minutes, Richie raised his hand.

“Can I go to the bathroom?” he asked. Ms Hatton looked like she might say no, so he widened his eyes and said, “It’s an emergency.”  

“Go,” she instructed. “But be quick about it. I don’t want to hear you’ve been bothering other classes, Mr Tozier.”

Richie nodded and bolted for the door. He was planning on finding Eddie, but as he rounded a corner, something—someone—pushed him up against the wall. “Jesus fuck!” he yelled. A door slammed a couple of feet down the hall. Richie’s glasses, which had slid down his nose with the force of the impact, clattered to the floor.

“Oh my god!” It was the new girl. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t think—“ She was holding something round and pointed in one hand, but she lowered it as she took in Richie’s frightened face. “I thought you were someth…someone else.”

Richie eyed the pointy thing. “What, a vampire?” he joked, shoving Beverly Marsh away from him before she could feel him shaking with fright. “I mean, that’s what the stick’s for, right? Unless it’s, you know, a tampon or something. My mom’s friend said—“

Beverly turned red. “It’s not a tampon,” she said. “I thought you were Henry Bowers.” The way she said that name, Richie got the impression she’d never actually met Henry Bowers.

“Nah.” Richie’s mouth moved without his consent. “I’m way more attractive than Henry Bowers. I hear his dick is tiny, you know? Like Eddie’s mom’s…” He trailed off, sensing the poor timing of his joke for the first time in his life. “Uh…I’m Richie Tozier.”

“Beverly Marsh.”

Richie didn’t offer her his hand, still shaken up by their earlier tussle. “Well,” he said, straightening his rumpled shirt, “I’ve gotta get back to class. See ya, Beverly.” He turned around and ran back up the hallway before she could get in another word and didn’t bother glancing back to see if she had gone.


	6. Chapter 6

“She tried to fucking stab me!” Richie was saying as Stan joined his friends on the sidewalk.

“Who?” Eddie asked, pulling a pack of gum out of his fanny pack. Stan thought that thing was like Mary Poppins’ bag, endless.

“Beverly Marsh! The new girl!” Richie looked a bit like Stan’s neighbour’s cat, like if Stan looked, he might see a puffed out tail. “I take back everything I said; she’s not hot, she’s crazy.”

“I th-thought she was nice.” That was Bill, who crossed his arms disapprovingly. “Besides, we don’t call people c-c-crazy, Richie. It’s n-not cool.”  

Richie shrugged. Eddie handed him a stick of gum. “So we’re not inviting her to the Barrens?” Stan asked, sticking his hands in his pockets. He stepped a bit to the side to avoid a crack in the sidewalk. He didn’t really care, so long as he could still be home by six.

“I th-think we shuh-should,” Bill said. “She might be n-nice.”

“Or she might be a serial killer,” Eddie snapped. “You know, my mom said there’s like, fifty serial killers out there right now, like, as we speak! She has this friend in, in like, Nevada, who dated a serial killer! Thought he was totally normal! Normal!” His voice rose in pitch. He waved his hands animatedly as he talked.

Richie snorted. His shirt, a loud Hawaiian print, was unbuttoned over a Nirvana t-shirt. Stan thought he looked like a tourist. “Your mom doesn’t know anyone from Nevada,” he scoffed. “She’s lying to ya, Eds.”

Eddie went so red he was almost purple. Richie nudged him. Stan turned to Bill. “What’re you doing over winter break?” he asked, desperate to stay out of the oncoming shoving match.

“N-nothing,” Bill said, shrugging so violently Stan wondered if it hurt. “My p-p-puh…” His face contorted in concentration as he struggled to spit out the rest of the word. “My p-puh… _fuck,_ my mom and d-dad haven’t b-been the same since Juh-Georgie went missing. “I doubt they’ll even re-remember Christmas.”

The thought made Stan’s heart twist. He couldn’t imagine his parents forgetting about Chanukah. “You can come celebrate with my family,” he offered. “You know, if the Jew stuff doesn’t bother you.” Belatedly, he regretted phrasing it like that.

“I’d l-like that.” Bill offered Stan a wavering smile and sniffled hard. He was _crying,_ Stan realised with a jolt. “Thanks, St-Stan.”

“No problem.”


	7. Chapter 7

There were no lights on when Beverly got home from school. She eased the door open and crept cautiously past her father, breaking into something resembling a run as she neared her room. Only once the door was locked did Beverly feel her heart start to slow. She dropped her backpack on the floor and rummaged through it for her stake; it was heavy in her hand, a reminder of everything she was running from.

“Stop it, Bev,” she said aloud. Shoving the stake into her underwear drawer—where it nestled with nearly a dozen others—Beverly resolved to forget about the whole business, if only for a moment. Instead, she thought about her old school, about what life was like before her mom sent her off to live with her dad in this sad, grey town. She set about taking the books out of her backpack and stacking them on her desk in a neat pile; it wouldn’t make her any more inclined to do the homework, but at least it looked nice.

It was a Friday afternoon, but the world outside Beverly’s window was cold and grey. In Derry, the sun seemed to set almost as soon as it rose, casting long, dark shadows across the deserted street. Beverly sighed. She missed LA, where the winter wasn’t unbearably cold. She closed her eyes, trying to force herself back into the past. It almost worked; she could almost feel the sun, hear the laughter of her peers outside her window.

No, wait. The laughter—that was real. Beverly’s eyes flew open. She wrenched open the window and leaned out, trying to get a glimpse of whoever the voices belonged to. They were talking now, joking. One of them said a name, _Bill._ She leaned out further, gripping the windowsill for balance. The voices belonged to some of the kids from school. She recognised the strange, nervous boy she’d found drawing circles on the desk, and Stuttering Bill Denbrough. And there was the kid she’d pinned up against the wall earlier today. Beverly jerked back as they looked her way, a nervous flush creeping up her neck, but they didn’t seem to have seen her.


	8. Chapter 8

Beverly had been in Derry for a month when the first body appeared. The victim was a child, probably no older than seven, and the newspaper was quick to speculate. _Sexual predator_ was a media favourite, but Beverly knew better. The moment she’d read the article, which described a bone white child found with little holes in her neck, she knew. They were here.

She started carrying holy water in her bag, and dug out her cross from the bottom of her jewellery box. Several times, she risked the wrath of her father by sneaking out at night to patrol, but despite Beverly’s precautions, there was no sign of the vampire that had killed a child. It was as if whatever lurked in the dark underbelly of Derry knew the Slayer was here.

Another body was found right before winter break. This time, the victim was slightly older, a thirteen year old boy Beverly vaguely recognised. Two days later, there was a third. The Derry police department slapped a curfew on the town. All children were to return home by 7pm at the latest, lest their parents be fined. Still, sometimes Beverly heard youthful laughter outside her window late at night. She wanted to lean outside and scream at them to go home, that they were risking their lives.  

The fourth child to turn up dead was little Georgie Denbrough. From what Beverly could gather, he’d been missing since late September, but they’d only just found the body now, one arm torn completely off. Bill was called out during English. There was a long silence as even the teacher strained to hear what was being said, and then everyone heard Bill scream. Beverly shot out of her seat, only to feel a hand close around her wrist. Stanley Uris yanked her back into her seat. Bill didn’t come back. That night, Beverly climbed out of her window, taking care not to wake her father, and roamed the streets until dawn, clutching a stake in her hand until it ached.


	9. Chapter 9

Bill was different. When Eddie visited the Denbrough residence on Sunday, just like he always did, Bill answered the door in his pyjamas, eyes red and swollen, and barely seemed to notice who it was at the door. “Do you want to come to the Barrens with us?” Eddie asked, heart hammering uncomfortably in his chest. Bill looked _sick,_ the kind of sick that had no cure, and it frightened him.

“I’m n-n-n-nuh…” Bill’s face screwed up in concentration as Eddie waited patiently for him to finish. “N-not f-feeling up t-t-t…” He didn’t say anything else, just took a step back and tried to close the door. Eddie put his foot in quickly. “P-p-please g-go away.” 

“No.” Eddie surprised himself by pushing his way forward, even though everything in him said to run away. “I know you’re upset, Bill. We all are, and we can’t imagine what you’re going through. But you need to come outside. Everyone is waiting.”

To his utter shock, Bill nodded. “L-let me get d-d-d…” he didn’t finish. Eddie nodded. He waited patiently in the Denbrough’s front hall as Bill threw on the first things he could find and grabbed his coat. They headed out into the bitter—but thankfully snowless—cold together, hands shoved in their pockets. Eddie wished they weren’t going to the Barrens. He wanted to be home, where it was warm and safe.

“It’s c-c-c-cold,” Bill pointed out, hunching his shoulders against the wind. “Wh-whuh-why are we g-g-g…guh-going to the B-Barrens?”

“I don’t know,” Eddie said truthfully. “Richie said so, I guess.”

Everyone else was already there, waiting. Stan was swaying uncomfortably from side to side, arms wrapped around his middle to keep the heat in. Richie was rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, looking almost angry, but he beamed when he saw Eddie and Bill. When he opened his mouth, that stupid British accent spilled out. “What took you so long, my good fellows?” he demanded.

“Beep beep, Richie,” Eddie sighed. Bill cracked a small smile. “What are we even doing here? It’s freezing! You know you can get frostbite in like, half an hour if it’s cold enough, and it’s definitely cold enough! We could get frostbite or, or hypothermia—and have you ever even heard what hypothermia does to you? Your whole body gets really cold and then you stop moving—“

Stan sneezed. Eddie screamed. “Oh my god! Oh my god! What if that’s the first symptom? What if that’s how it starts, and then, and then all of us get it, and…”

Richie slapped Eddie on the back. Stan sighed impatiently. “You can’t catch hypothermia from someone else,” he said. “That’s stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

Bill took a few halting steps to the left and sat down heavily on a rock. “Wh-what are we d-d-d…duh…doing here?” he asked Richie.

“We’re deciding whose house to go to.”

Eddie’s eyes bugged out. “Are you kidding me?” he yelled. “We went all this way in the freezing cold when we’re just going to go back inside?”

“I think we should go to mine,” Stan suggested. “My mom’s making hot chocolate.”

“Sold,” Richie said. Eddie and Bill nodded.

Mrs Uris scolded them when they came in, brushing snow from her son’s hair and clicking her tongue disapprovingly at the rest. “You’ll catch your death,” she huffed as they filed in one by one, silent except for their socked feet shuffling over the carpet. Then Stan looked up and smiled brightly.

“We’re here for some hot chocolate, Mom,” he said pleasantly. She sighed.

“Go wait in the living room,” Mrs Uris instructed. “And don’t drip water on the carpet, boys. We just had it cleaned.”


	10. Chapter 10

Christmas Eve brought a cloak of peace over Derry. There had been a light snowfall two days prior, and the remnants crackled under Beverly’s feet as she walked. Her winter coat, old and patched in several places, wasn’t keeping out the cold the way it was supposed to. Beverly shivered. To her left, wind whistled through the headstones of the Derry Cemetery; to her right, the ground dropped steeply into the Derry Canal.

Something moved up ahead. Beverly peered into the gloom, unwilling to turn on her flashlight and alert whomever—whatever—was lurking to her presence. As she watched, the thing straightened up from a crouch, revealing a clearly human frame. The shadowy figure was tall and almost gangly, but it moved at a rapid pace. Soon, it was disappearing into the trees. Beverly gave chase. She wove through the mess of headstones, tripping over several in the process, and lurched into the forest after it. Branches snapped against Beverly’s cheeks, and from the wet warmth she felt trickling down her forehead, one of them must have drawn blood.

Beverly ran for what felt like hours, and was about to give up when she heard a scream from just ahead. She broke through the last of the trees and into a little clearing, surrounded on all sides by looming oaks. There was a trail coming off of one side, which was how Beverly assumed the screaming boy had gotten there. He struggled weakly in the grasp of the vampire, hands clawing at the creature’s arms, its thighs, anywhere he could reach. Though it was dark, Beverly could just make out his frightened face in the moonlight. Without thinking, she flicked on her flashlight and pointed it at the vampire’s face.

“Hey, asshole!” she yelled. The vampire dropped its victim and turned on her. This close, she could see more than just shadows; the vampire was tall, looming over Beverly like one of the oak trees. His hair was a strange orangey red, and his eyes glinted silver in the dark. His skin was papery and pale, his face smeared with blood from mouth to chin. Red lips drew back, revealing sharp, jagged teeth. Beverly fought down a scream.

“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. Her voice trembled. The vampire cocked his head, appraising her. His silvery eyes narrowed.

“Slayer,” he said at last, smiling a cold, awful smile. “I’d heard whispers, rumours…” He trailed off, licking his lips. Frothy spit mingled with the blood. “Do you really think you can kill me?”

“I know I can.”

“Oh…” Trailing into a laugh, the vampire loped toward her in slow, lazy steps. “I like that. Yes I do. I like that very much.” He laughed again. The sound sent chills up Beverly’s spine.

“You’d better run,” she hissed, and then she flung herself forward. The vampire leapt back quicker than Beverly could advance, evading every blow. Once, she felt her stake tear through cloth, but almost at once the vampire knocked her backward with one solid kick to the chest. As she lay there, struggling to regain her breath, she heard the thing laugh again.

“I’m running, Slayer,” he crooned. And then he disappeared into the trees.

“Are you okay?” Forcing herself to move, Beverly stood and rushed over to the boy on the ground. He was lying scarily still, holding onto his neck like he was afraid he’d bleed to death if he didn’t—and he very well might—and breathing in short, shallow gasps. She thought she recognised his round face, kind even in his pain, but she couldn’t place where.

“What the hell was that?” the boy croaked, blinking at Beverly like a frightened deer. “Did you—what did he call you? Did you kill him?”

“I…I didn’t kill him,” Beverly said quickly. Choosing her next words carefully, she added, “That thing wasn’t a person. It was a vampire.” She half expected the boy to laugh. Instead, he nodded slightly. “Look, we need to get you out of here.”

“You’re Beverly Marsh,” the boy said as she helped him stand. He let go of his neck for a second, and Beverly saw the two bleeding puncture wounds, bright red against the pale skin of his throat. “We have Social Studies together.”

Beverly nodded. A name rang like a bell in the back of her mind. “Ben,” she said. Ben nodded. “Come on, we need to get you home. Can you walk?”


	11. Chapter 11

Ben hid the wounds from his mom. He wore scarves, even indoors, letting her believe what she liked about it. “You haven’t got anything you want to tell me,” Ms Hanscom asked on the first day, “have you, Ben?”

He spent most of winter break in the library. Despite what his mother called a ‘sunny disposition’, Ben didn't have many friends, or any friends at all. But after the _incident_ (he refused to think about _vampires_ and the like), he started seeing Beverly Marsh almost everywhere. He shared knowing glances with her across the baking aisle of the grocery store, recognised her voice at the pharmacy. But it wasn’t until school started up again that he really got to know her.

The first day back, Beverly dropped into the empty seat next to him as though it was the most natural thing in the world.  As though she didn’t know she was condemning herself to social exile by sitting with him. “Hey,” she greeted. Ben stared at her, confused. “Hey, Ben. Did I sit on your invisible friend or something? What’re you staring at?”

“Not staring,” he managed to squeak out. His cheeks flamed. He was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of how he must look, even with his sweatshirt on. “Uh, sorry.”

Beverly sighed. She was wearing a light blue top under a purple cardigan, and her long, fiery hair hung over one shoulder in a thick ponytail. The knees of her jeans were faded, and her converse sneakers looked like they’d seen better days, but to Ben, she looked like an angel. Leaning forward, she asked, “Is it because of what happened?” in a low, soft voice. Ben flinched at the reminder.

“No!” he cried. There was a rustle as kids turned to look at him. “No,” Ben said again, quieter this time.

“Then what is it?” Beverly didn’t sound like she cared much. She took her books and pencil case out of her bag and tossed them carelessly onto her desk.

“Just…no one sits with me. I mean, not since kindergarten.” Ben bit his lip and thought for a second before continuing. “Sitting with me…I mean, if people see you talking to me…you’re not going to get very far on the social ladder.”

Beverly had listened to him with a pensive, serious expression. Now, a wide grin split her face. “With friends like these,” she said confidently, “who cares about the damn ladder, anyway?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Feedback is always appreciated. Let us know what kind of things you want from the story and the art. :)


	12. Chapter 12

“Man, this blows.” Richie scowled down at his packed lunch, poking the bagged granny smith apple with the back of his fork. “It’s all healthy shit. She didn’t even give me any chips.”

Stan, who was busy scowling down at his lunch tray, looked up. “I’ll trade you,” he said, pushing the tray toward Richie. Blushing with shame, he added, “The corn and mashed potatoes are touching. I can’t eat it.”

Eddie snorted. “You can just separate them,” the smaller boy pointed out, dragging his knife through the mess on his plate to demonstrate. “Nothing’s gonna happen if you do.”

Stan shook his head. “I’ll…it makes me feel sick. I can’t.” He pushed the tray toward Richie again. Richie tossed his bagged lunch over.

“Sweet, it’s meatloaf!”

“N-n-no one likes the s-s-school meatloaf, Ruh-Richie,” Bill said, wrinkling his nose. “It t-tastes ho-horrible.”

“You just hate meatloaf, Buh-Bill,” Richie shot back in a terrible impression of Bill’s stutter. Far from being offended, he smiled widely. Richie smiled, digging his fork into the questionable potatoes in front of him.

“Sh-shuh-shut up,” Bill laughed. Then he quieted, attention drawn elsewhere. Richie craned his neck to see what Bill was looking at.

“Is that…is that Beverly Marsh and Ben Hanscom?” he asked loudly. Stan and Eddie shushed him. “Do you think they’re…?” Instead of finishing the sentence, Richie started to make obnoxious kissy noises, flinging his arms around Eddie in demonstration. Eddie pretended to gag while Stan laughed so hard he snorted chocolate milk out of his nose and had to spend a minute choking and coughing as he tried to compose himself. Bill didn’t laugh with them.

“I’m serious,” he said. “Maybe we should call them over.”

“Are you crazy?” Richie asked. “We’re at the bottom of the totem pole, Bill! If we invite them over, we’ll be even _lower!_ We’ll be _nothing!”_

“We’re already nothing,” Stan croaked, wiping tears from his eyes. There was chocolate milk on his collar. _‘Wonder what he’ll do when he sees it,’_ Richie thought, and then hated himself for it.  Bill pushed back his chair without acknowledging any of them and made his way over to the lonely pair.

“Can you hear what they’re saying?” Richie whispered to Eddie, who was staring at Bill with a strange sort of intensity. Eddie shushed him.

“Beep beep, Richie,” Stan said. “Of course he can’t. They’re too far away and it’s too loud in here.”

“Well then why’s he looking so serious?” Richie demanded. “Huh, Stanley? He looks like a man who’s listening!”

“Shut up,” Eddie groaned. “I’m reading their body language, dipshit.”

Richie leaned forward, jabbing his glasses up his nose. “You can do that?” he asked, excited.

“Uh…duh.”

Bill came back over, this time with Beverly and Ben in tow. “G-guys,” he said, smiling, “this is B-Buh-Beverly a-and B-Ben. And th-that’s R-Ruh-hichie a-and Stan and Eh-Eddie.” He let out the rest of his breath in a long sigh. Richie thought he looked a bit embarrassed, and that he might be too if he stuttered like that. Instead of commenting like he usually would have, he stuck out his hand for Ben and Beverly to shake.

“Nice to meet you.” Ben shook first, his hand warm and slightly rough. His smile was contagiously friendly. Beverly was next. Her hand felt the way Richie’s mom’s did, worn from doing dishes and laundry, but still soft, with blunt, bitten nails like Stan’s. Her smile wasn’t as wide as Ben’s, but it was bright and warm and beautiful.

“Welcome to the Loser’s Club,” Richie said.

“Beep beep, Richie,” his friends chorused. He laughed. 

 ***

The vampire didn’t kill again—at least not in Derry—until January 28th. A group of first graders found the body of Eddie Corcoran lying facedown in the gutter. According to Richie, one of his arms had been torn off.

“Like Juh-Georgie,” Bill said when he heard it. Beverly glanced curiously at him, feeling her heart sink just a little when she saw his sad, subdued face.

“Who’s Georgie?” she asked hesitantly, though she didn’t really want to know the answer. Whatever it was, it was bad.

“M-My b-b-brother.” Bill cast sad, tired eyes toward the table. “He d-disappeared right b-b-b-before Christmas.”

“Oh.” A guilty feeling welled in Beverly’s chest, almost like tears. “I’m sorry,” she said softly, reaching instinctively for Bill’s hand. They were in his bedroom, sitting in a circle on the carpeted floor. Richie and Eddie were nearest the closet, their backs resting on the wooden doors. Stan was sitting in Bill’s desk chair, long legs stretched in front of him, while Ben leaned back against the bed. Bill and Beverly sat next to each other, their legs crossed, completing the circle. He pulled his hand away.

“You d-d-didin’t kn-know.” Bill shrugged, but the gesture was jerky and forced. The guilty feeling grew in Beverly, but she didn’t try to take Bill’s hand again. Silently, she resolved to kill the vampire. It had to be the one she’d seen trying to kill Ben, because Beverly had never encountered anything else twisted enough to prey almost exclusively on children, but he’d overpowered her easily when they fought. Beverly doubted she could do it on her own.

Suddenly, a warm hand on her shoulder shook Beverly from her thoughts. “—you okay?” Stan was saying, his brow furrowed. Eddie leaned forward nervously, one hand stretched out like he might feel her forehead, before he sat back down with a _thump._

“Yeah,” she said. Her voice shook. “Just zoned out for a bit. What were you saying?”

Bill frowned. “Ben th-thinks he knows whuh-what’s doing this,” he mumbled.

“What do you mean, _what?”_ Beverly asked, glancing pleadingly at Ben. It seemed to her that he was deliberately avoiding her eyes. “Don’t you mean _who?”_

“No,” Ben said, “I mean _what._ Beverly knows what I’m talking about.”

“No I don’t!” she cried. Her voice was weak, a liar’s voice. Stan sat up in the desk chair, eyes narrowed. Eddie’s breath wheezed painfully. Richie seemed too focused on his playing cards to care much, but he glanced at the others every so often over the thick frames of his glasses. “Ben, I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“It’s…” Ben hesitated. Beverly saw the apology in his expression before he said, “It’s a vampire.”

Everyone sprung into motion at once. Eddie took a puff of his inhaler, gasping desperately for air. Richie snorted with laughter. Stan’s face lost its colour, and he muttered something about being sick before racing for the hall. Bill’s face took on a look of intense concentration. When he looked at Beverly again, it wasn’t with the confusion and betrayal she had expected, but with a quiet pensiveness that made warmth bloom in her stomach.

“I-I-I think yuh-you may be ri-right,” he said finally; his voice was low and full of purpose. He bit his full lower lip and looked at Beverly through his lashes as though he was afraid to meet her gaze full-on. “I s-s-suh-saw him t-too.”

Richie exhaled sharply, pushing his glasses up his nose with a hand that wasn’t quite steady. “That's bullshit,” he hissed. “Vampires are bullshit! They’re…they’re _kiddie_ stories!” His dark, curly hair bobbed as he whipped his head from side to side, scrutinising his friends. Suddenly, a loud hissing sound made them all jump, glancing around. Eddie smiled sheepishly and tucked his aspirator back into his pocket.

Bill’s door creaked open and Stan crept back in, pale and trembling, a sheen of sweat coating his forehead. Richie locked onto him. “You don’t believe in vampires,” he said pointedly, “do you, Stanley?”

“I…I don’t know, okay?” His voice was louder than Beverly had ever heard it. “All I know is I saw _something._ I don’t know _what.”_

Eddie nodded solemnly. “Me too,” he said. Beverly took a deep breath.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” she began.


	13. Chapter 13

The vampire came out of hiding on Valentine’s Day. Beverly was just about to turn onto her street when she spotted his tall, lean shadow on the brick wall in front of her and stopped dead, breath coming in shallow pants. She debated pretending she hadn’t seen, but she knew he would recognise her no matter what. Fear rising up in her throat, Beverly turned. The vampire was lounging against the rickety frame of a fire escape. As Beverly squared up to face him, his eyes seemed to glow with sick delight.

“Slayer,” he murmured. “Such a pleasant surprise.”

“You know, most people just call me Beverly.” Beverly ignored the way her voice shook, hand slowly creeping for her stake. The vampire grinned.

“Beverly,” he crooned. As he smiled again, cracks formed in the dried blood on his chin. “I’m Pennywise. Yes.” Pennywise bowed with a flourish of his odd, frilly sleeves. Beverly’s hand closed around the smooth wooden stake in her belt. “Ah, ah. I wouldn’t do that.”

“And I wouldn’t do _that,”_ said another voice. Beverly looked around, shocked. “Get out of here, vampire.” The voice belonged to a boy around Beverly’s age, tall and muscular, wearing a white shirt that stood out against his dark skin. His eyes glinted dangerously. “You don’t belong in this town.”

To Beverly’s shock, the vampire—Pennywise—seemed almost _alarmed._ But almost as quickly as it came, the expression vanished, replaced by open malice. “No,” Pennywise hummed, loping forward so he loomed over the boy. “No, _you_ don’t belong, do you? Or you wouldn’t be out here in the dark.”

The boy locked eyes with Beverly over the vampire’s shoulder. She took it as a signal and charged. Everything happened quickly after that, but through the haze of adrenaline it seemed to Beverly as though she were underwater; Pennywise stepped casually out of her way, baring his yellowed teeth in a predatory grin. The boy struck out with his fist, and Beverly saw something wooden in his grasp—a stake. There was no time to question it, because the vampire was already recovering from the blow, which had landed squarely in his shoulder, and lunging forward, arms outstretched.

“Go!” Beverly shouted as Pennywise’s bony fingers nearly closed around the boy’s arm. One of the vampire’s long nails left a deep scratch in the boy’s dark skin, but he barely seemed to notice it. “What are you _doing_?”

The boy gave her a sideways glance as he ducked out of the vampire’s way again. “Never mind what I’m doing!” he shouted. “Move! Come on!”

Together, the two of them managed to chase the vampire to the far end of the street and around a corner, where he seemed to disappear into thin air. “Where did he go?” Beverly shouted, racing forward so quickly she nearly tripped over a manhole cover that had been left ajar. “He can’t have gotten away that quickly!”

“He’ll be back.” The boy’s voice was resigned but calm. “You must be the slayer.”

“Yeah, and who the fuck are you?”

“Mike Hanlon. I’m your Watcher.”

 ***

“Guys,” Beverly said, “this is Mike Hanlon. He’s my Watcher.”

Richie raised his hand, a sign of nothing good. “Excuse me,” he said, giggling a bit before he continued, “but what the fuck is a Watcher? Is it some kind of sex thing?”

Mike, a tall, well built boy of their own age, waited patiently until Richie was finished teasing before he explained, “A Watcher protects the Slayer. We make sure she has the tools she needs to fight the evils of this world.”

“Didja get that out of a book or something?”

“Yes, actually.”

“No wonder it sounded rehearsed.”

Bill kicked Richie in the shin. “Beep beep.” He shot Mike a pained, apologetic smile. “I’m suh-sorry. Please c-c-c-continue.”

Mike nodded his thanks. “The Watcher’s duty is to ensure his Slayer’s safety to the best of his ability, understand? We…”

“Watch?” That was, surprisingly, Stanley. “I don’t understand. If it’s the…the _Slayer’s_ job to kill all the vampires, why does she need back-up?”

Beverly bristled. “We have a history of charging in without thinking,” she said. “Watchers make sure Slayers are informed. They have all this…this ancient lore, like, stuff about magic and—“

“Magic?” Eddie sounded intrigued. “Magic is real?”

The smile Mike gave him could have melted ice. “Magic is very real,” he said, “and very dangerous. It takes a special kind of person to use magic.”

Beverly wasn’t sure she liked the glint in Eddie’s eye, but she was glad when he didn’t press Mike any further.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, feedback would be much appreciated. Let us know what you think!


	14. Chapter 14

“You know, I just don’t get it.” Eddie was lounging on Richie’s bed, small fingers curled around his inhaler, which made a clicking sound every time his nails tapped against the smooth plastic.

Richie looked up. “Get what?” he asked. Eddie _tap-tapped_ against his inhaler again and tossed it to the side.

“This whole Slayer business.” Eddie gesticulated wildly as he talked, hands cutting through the air in some arbitrary pattern. Though his voice had dropped in recent years, it still had a high, reedy quality to it that made him sound almost nervous. “It doesn’t make sense, Richie. I mean, vampires?”

Richie knew exactly what Eddie meant. If it hadn’t been for the sheer gravity of Beverly’s voice as she told them her story, Richie wasn’t sure he’d believe it either. But he grew up listening to liars, and he knew when someone was telling the truth. Besides, Ben’s terror when he recounted his side of the tale hadn’t been faked; of that, Richie was sure. “I think they’re telling the truth,” Richie said quietly.

With a rustle of blankets, Eddie sat up. “I’m not questioning that,” he protested. “I mean, obviously they _think_ they’re telling the truth! But like, vampires? Don’t you think it’s a bit…weird?”

“I think this whole town’s a bit weird.” Richie sighed glumly. He leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the only clean part of his desk. “Hey, Eddie, you do the math homework?”

“I’m not doing your homework for you, you fucking loser!” Eddie yelled, rolling over so he could smack Richie on the back of the head. “Maybe…maybe you should do it yourself!”

Richie leapt up, making toward Eddie with his hands extended into claws. “Is that the best you could come up with?” he growled, and Eddie shrieked as Richie tackled him.

“Stop!” the smaller boy howled, curling in on himself to hide from Richie’s poking fingers.  


	15. Chapter 15

By early February, seven children had gone missing, and five bodies had been found. The latest was Patrick Hockstetter, a senior with a penchant for lighting things on fire and a poorly hidden lust for Henry Bowers. He was always out too late, his mother said on the Derry News, wringing her hands nervously, but he always came home in the end. “He’s a good boy,” she insisted. Mike snorted, reaching for the remote to change the channel.

“You knew him, Homeschool?” Richie asked, sitting up from his slouched position in Bill’s rocking chair.

“Yeah,” Mike said, “I knew him. Thought everybody did.”

Richie made a noise of agreement. “Yeah, everyone in Derry. You’re…”

“Richie,” Eddie warned, smacking his leg. Richie winced and rubbed the back of his neck, cheeks going an embarrassed red.

“No offence.”

“None taken.” Mike looked back at the TV screen, which was now playing some mundane infomercial where a woman with too much make-up demonstrated how to remove cat fur from a sofa that had seen better days. Beverly made some off-handed comment along the same vein, and both Bill and Ben laughed as though she’d said something far cleverer.

There was a long stretch of silence, the comfortable, sleepy kind, and then Ben said, “What do you think happened to Hockstetter?”

Beverly rolled her shoulders, something Mike noticed she did when she was anxious. “What happens to everyone in Derry,” she replied evenly. “Pennywise got him.”

“The vampire?” Eddie sat up straight. He wheezed a little as he inhaled to keep talking. “I thought it only went after—“

“Kids,” Mike finished for him. “Yeah.” He paused, thinking over his next words carefully. “I guess Hockstetter’s still a kid.”

“He’s eighteen. It doesn’t fit the puh-pattern.” Bill joined the conversation hesitantly, glancing sideways at Mike as though daring him to comment on his stutter.

“This isn’t one of your crime shows, Bill,” Richie argued. Bill pursed his lips. Sighing, Mike stood and stretched, preparing to take his leave for the day. Beverly jumped up, too.

“You’re leaving already?” she asked. Mike nodded.

“I wanted to go check something in the books,” he explained. “If it’s too late, my granddad won’t let me into the shed.”

“I can walk with you,” the Slayer offered, reaching for her bag. Mike was quick to reassure her that it wasn’t necessary. “Are you sure?”

“I’ll be fine on my own,” he insisted. Although she looked uncertain, Beverly sat. “See you all tomorrow.”

 ***

_“You need to help me, please!”_

“Where are you?” Richie asked, already grabbing his coat from the hook by the front door. His palm was sweaty against the back of his phone—Eddie was always saying he should get a case for it, but Richie didn’t see the point—but he didn’t have time to stop. He just shrugged on his coat as quickly as possible and dashed out into the night. “Stan, where the fuck are you?”

“ _I…I don’t know.”_ Stan’s voice cracked, thick with tears. “ _I’m scared, Richie.”_

Richie passed up his bike. If Stan was in a bad way, Richie doubted his ability to get him onto the back, much less keep him there. Instead, he took off on foot toward the birdbath he knew Stan frequented. If Stanley wasn’t there, he might be nearby. After a few deep breaths, Richie spoke again.

“Can you tell me what you’re seeing?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. It was no use worrying Stan.

“ _I…”_ There was a strangled sound. “ _I can’t…can’t really see…I think there’s…I think it’s the Standpipe…”_

Definitely near the birdbath, then. Richie quickened his pace. The line disconnected at some point; whether Stan had hung up or lost battery, the silence spurred Richie onward until he was bounding across the grass toward the Derry Standpipe, which loomed ominously against the dark sky.

He found Stan lying in the grass, curled up on his side. Richie dropped to his knees, ignoring the wet that seeped through his jeans, and grabbed his friend’s shoulder gently. “Stanley!” he cried. “Stanley, what are you doing? What were you thinking?”

Hazy eyes blinked open. “Richie?” Stan rasped.

“Yeah, you dumbass. It’s me. What are you doing out here?” Richie helped Stan sit up. His shirt was soaked through, as were his khakis, and he shivered violently despite his puffy coat.

“I…” Stan looked confused. He blinked and swallowed heavily several times. “I don’t know. I was bird-watching, and my head…I _saw_ something, Richie.”

Richie’s heart sank into his stomach. His uncle had said something similar before they carted him off to Juniper Hills. “What…what did you see, Stanley?”

“I saw…I saw Patrick Hockstetter. He was…there was blood everywhere, and he was _alive.”_

__


	16. Chapter 16

“Are you all right?”

Bill cast another pebble into the water instead of answering. It was mid-March, and the Kenduskeag was bloated with melted ice and the torrential rains of early spring. The rock, like the others before it, skipped only twice before it sank to the bottom of the river. “Bill,” Stan said again, “talk to me.”

“I w-wuh-was thinking about Juh-Georgie,” Bill confessed. Stan sat next to him on the riverbank and smoothed his hands across the knee of his jeans. “It’s s-st-stupid.” Bill met Stan’s eyes hesitantly, and Stan offered him a warm smile.

“Whatever you’re thinking, I doubt it’s stupid.”

“I wuh-was wondering i-i-i-i-if h-he suff-f-f….if it h-hurt,” Bill said at last, in half his normal voice. His throat felt tight and his chest ached as he struggled to hold back his tears. “I wuh-was th-th-thinking…he was s-s-s-s-s-so small, Stan.”

Bill saw Stan’s lower lip tremble for a moment, but instead of crying he took a deep, steady breath and reached for Bill’s hand. “The world shouldn’t be like this,” he said softly. His hand was cold and trembling, but he held Bill’s tightly. “None of it makes sense, Bill. But we’re going to fix it. I know we are.”

Bill could only nod, the words he wanted to say stuck to his tongue. He leaned sideways until his head was resting against Stan’s shoulder, and felt Stan adjust his own posture in return. A warm arm settled around Bill’s waist, and for a moment, he felt safe again.

 ***

Stan’s felt like he was alone on a lifeboat, powerless to do anything but watch as the waves slowly pulled him down. Eddie said he was having visions. His parents said he was sick. After a while, their sentiments began to blur together, until Stan could no longer remember which he believed. He’d seen something, sure, _kept_ seeing things, but the very concept of psychic powers offended everything Stan believed in. He didn’t believe in magic, plain and simple.

 _You didn’t believe in vampires, either,_ a little voice reminded him. Stan pushed it away.

Winter was slowly becoming spring, and the last of the March rains was starting to ease up when the next child was taken. It had been so long since the last that Stan had could almost convince himself that the danger had passed. And then Vic Criss went missing. Vic Criss was an unpleasant young man, just as integral to the Bowers Gang as Hockstetter had been, and while the general consensus among students was that he would not be missed, the darkness that seemed to have lifted with the melting snow settled back over Derry. Police officers waited daily outside the school at first and last bell to ensure that no one was waiting in the shadows. _Don’t you know It only comes at night?_ Stan wanted to shout at them, but he kept his mouth shut and his head down.

Two days after Vic Criss disappeared, Stan saw Hockstetter again. It wasn’t that simple, although he wished it were; the vision started as a dull headache, pounding in his temples and behind his eyes. By some miracle, it didn’t hit until after school had let out for the day, but when it did Stan felt the strength leave his body in waves, until he was forced to grab Eddie’s shoulder as his knees gave out. “Stan!” Richie shouted, rushing to his side. Stan felt Richie’s callused fingers close around his elbow.

“I’m fine,” he tried to say, but what came out was a barely intelligible croak.

“What’s happening?” Beverly’s voice shook nervously.

“I…” Stan’s mouth felt impossibly dry. Although he knew exactly what he wanted to say, he couldn’t force his tongue to shape the words. Was this how Bill felt every day? Darkness crept into his periphery, and his whole body felt as if it were on fire. And then he wasn’t in Bill’s living room anymore.

As images flashed and changed around him, Stan caught a glimpse of the sewers. The horrific slideshow seemed to slow down as Stan watched, until he could clearly make out a figure in the sewer tunnel, tall and lanky, more elbows and knees than anything else. The figure was wearing a grungy yellow shirt and torn up jeans, his hair was damp and tangled, and his face was smeared with mud and other things Stan didn’t want to think about, but the figure was undeniably that of Patrick Hockstetter. But as Stan tried to focus, the scene melted away, until he could see nothing but the dim light of the stars, hear nothing but the whisper of something older than time. And then there was silence.


	17. Chapter 17

Mike wasn’t afraid of what lurked in the dark. It was what walked in the light that scared him. Bev had shoved him when he told her so, said he was being needlessly cryptic, but that didn’t make it any less true. This thing, whatever it was, was taking children during the day, and Mike had never heard of a vampire with that kind of power. He was surprised when Eddie said as much to him during one of their weekly meetings. They were situated in Ben’s room, listening to his mother sing while she did the dishes, when Mike felt someone tap his shoulder.

“Can I talk to you?” Eddie said. His eyebrows were pulled together anxiously, and he was holding his inhaler in one hand, probably as a precaution. Whatever this was, it was serious.

“Yeah, sure.” Mike nodded at the empty spot next to him, but Eddie shook his head furiously. “What, we can’t talk about it here?”

“No.”

Mike cast a longing glance at the table in front of him, where Ben had laid out a plate with cheese and crackers and a glass of cold Coke. “Come on, we’ll find somewhere more private.”

Eddie waited until they were on the porch to speak. “I don’t think this thing…Pennywise…I don’t think it’s a vampire,” he said, his voice shaking with every word.

Mike’s heart skipped a beat. “What?” 

“You don’t believe me.” Eddie’s face flushed almost as pink as his shirt. He reached into his pocket for his inhaler. “I didn’t think you would.” He turned to go back inside, but quick as a flash, Mike’s hand shot out and grabbed his wrist.

“I do!” He lowered his voice and said again, “I do.”

“What do we do?”

Mike floundered for a moment, helpless. What could they do? No one else would believe them without evidence, and for the moment, they had none. “Nothing,” he said finally. “We do nothing.”

 ***

The desk wobbled as Eddie dropped a stack of books by Mike’s elbow. “This is all I could find,” he said, taking the empty seat across from Mike. He crossed his legs and arms uncomfortably and took up staring at Mike.

“Have I got something on my face?” Mike asked after a stretch of awkward silence in which Eddie did nothing but stare. “What?”

“I just…” Eddie shrugged. “I thought we’d have had more by now. We’ve been working on this for a week. It’s April, Mike. It’s going to be summer soon, and I don't want to spend all summer _hunting.”_

Mike dragged one of the books from off the pile. “ _The Marseilles Grimoire,”_ he read aloud. “ _The Complete Demon Codex._ Where did you find these? I’ve never heard of any of them.”

Eddie bit his lip nervously. “I’ve been doing some research.” A beat. As Eddie shifted in his seat, Mike leaned forward.

“What kind of research?” His interest was piqued by Eddie’s reluctance to give him a straight answer. “Eddie, what have you been getting up to?”

“Nothing.” It would have been more convincing if Eddie had been able to meet Mike’s eyes. Instead, he stared resolutely at the table. “I’ve been looking into…I guess _magic_ is the right word. I…” He trailed off.

“Eddie,” Mike said. “That’s dangerous stuff.”

“I know that,” Eddie snapped, flushing an ugly red. “I haven’t _tried_ anything. I just looked! Read stuff, you know. I want to be prepared.” He pulled one of the books toward his side of the table. “For instance, I found out there isn’t a single mention of a creaturecalled Pennywise in any continent, country, region, or culture, at least not that I can find.”

Mike reached for one of the thick tomes. “Give me everything you’ve got,” he said, “and I’ll find it. Whatever this town’s got to hide, I’ll dig it out.” He smiled thinly. “My dad always said I was good at research.”

 


End file.
